


Where everyone would love to drown

by somnambulants



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 09:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnambulants/pseuds/somnambulants
Summary: She remembers; there had been a phantom stroking of her hair, a touch to her shoulder, a gentle voice reaching out to her:come back to us -follow my voice, we’re all here waiting for you, Misty –Another voice:Time’s up.And then there had been nothing at all.8.05 centered fic.





	Where everyone would love to drown

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically just a shitty re-write of the episode just go with it!!!!!
> 
> title from Sara by Fleetwood Mac

It took her so long – too long – to realise that she was stuck. The second she’d entered the classroom it had quickly boiled down to the scalpel in her hand and the never-ending want to use it to tear her own heart out rather than use it on a living thing and she’d forgotten where she was, let alone how to get out.

 

There had been a phantom stroking of her hair, a touch to her shoulder, a gentle voice reaching out to her: _come back to us - follow my voice, we’re all here waiting for you, Misty_ \--

 

Another voice: _Time’s up_.

 

And then there had been nothing at all.

 

\--

Misty doesn’t know how long she’s been down here. It could be years, or it could be minutes. Time moves so slowly but so quickly at the same time that she starts to forget what seconds and hours feel like. 

 

She misses her swamp, misses her Stevie and she misses Miss Cordelia, mostly.

 

Her hell always starts the same and every single time, she knows what’s happening but can’t do anything to stop it.

 

“No,” the words feel raw in her throat as she looks up at Mr Kingery; cold, dead eyes gazing back as he reaches over to force the scalpel in her hand. “No, please, I don’t want to kill a living –"

 

This time, something is different. The scene changes. Mr. Kingery drops to the floor and the man standing behind him smiles at her, his lips curling back from his teeth.

 

Chills run down Misty’s spine. “Are you here to save me?”

 

Wordlessly, he extends a bloodied hand, and everything turns black.

 

\--

 

Misty opens her eyes at the touch of something against her hair and immediately finds herself looking up into unfamiliar – but so, so familiar at the same time – brown eyes.

 

 _Miss Cordelia_.

 

As if she can hear Misty’s thoughts, she smiles down at her, sweeping a strand of hair away from Misty’s face that she hadn’t noticed and leans down to pull her into her arms.

 

Madison sneers at her from over Miss Cordelia’s shoulder. Misty sees Zoe elbows her in the side roughly out of the corner of her eye as she turns her attention back to Miss Cordelia, who is still smiling at her, eyes – _her eyes_ – glimmering with something unreadable.

 

Misty leans into the hand that’s stroking her cheek, feeling the air sailing into her lungs as she breathes in for the first time. “Am I? –“

 

Understanding her, Miss Cordelia’s face crumples. “Yes,” she says, fervently. “Yes – you’re back. You’re safe.”

 

Myrtle leans over them, coming into Misty’s line of sight, murmuring something that Misty doesn’t catch, but Miss Cordelia straightens up slightly, still cradling her in her arms as she helps her sit up.

 

“Can you stand?” she asks her gently, and, at Misty’s nod, she helps her up. 

 

Misty leans against her, more so to be closer to the _good_ she can feel radiating off her, rather than for the support.

 

(She’d always had a feeling Miss Cordelia was a lot more powerful than anyone had given her credit for and, from the second she’d opened her eyes, she knew she’d been right all along.)

 

“Miss Cordelia, your eyes,” she says, awed, reaching out to touch her face with trembling fingers. “They – You’re the supreme.”

 

Miss Cordelia lets her trace the now smooth parts of her skin that had been marred by scar tissue the last time she’d seen her for a second, before she grabs her hands, gently pulling her away.

 

“Something we never saw coming,” she says, wryly.

 

Misty opens her mouth to protest, ready to say: _I did – I saw it coming_ but is cut off before she can say the words.

 

“You have to concede, Cordelia,” someone says, and Misty looks over to find a different man than the one she’d seen earlier. He has his arms crossed, leaning back against the wall across the room and she immediately feels bad vibes from him. “He passed your tests.”

 

Misty feels Miss Cordelia stiffen against her. “I can see that,” she says.

 

They quickly dissolve into talking about the seven wonders and Misty tries to follow the conversation but finds that their voices quickly blur together, as that feeling – the one she’d felt before, like there’s something rotten all around them – hits her again.

 

She can’t put her finger on it, not until she spots the man that had fetched her from hell across the room.

 

_It’s him._

 

A shudder ripples through her and immediately Miss Cordelia tugs her closer, looking concerned. No one else seems to have noticed her reaction. 

 

“Are you alright?” Miss Cordelia asks her softly.

 

Misty opens her mouth to reply but gets distracted as the other girls step forward. Maddison is still scowling; Zoe is grinning.

 

She’s quickly enveloped in a hug by Queenie. “Welcome back, girl,” she says, ruffling Misty’s hair. 

 

Still grinning, Zoe quickly wraps her arms around her too alongside Queenie, until the only one on the outside is Madison, who sighs before joining them.

 

“Just so you know, this doesn’t mean shit,” Madison says, voice muffled by Zoe’s shoulder as her arms wind around Misty’s torso and firmly locks them all together in a group hug. “I still hate all of you bitches.”

 

 

Zoe rolls her eyes. “Sure, Madison.”

 

 

With their arms all around her, Misty closes her eyes and lets herself properly breathe for the first time since she’d woken up. 

 

 

When she opens them, that man is still watching them - _her_ \- arms crossed, and his own eyes narrowed with something she can’t identify. It makes her hackles rise, though. 

 

 

Myrtle’s voice across the room suddenly hits her, sounding alarmed. 

 

 

“Cordelia –“ she hears her say behind her and she breaks away from the hug, turning around to find Miss Cordelia, her face creasing into a frown as she holds a hand to her steadily flowing bloody nose.

 

Misty is immediately at her side, heart pounding.

 

“My god,” Miss Cordelia says faintly, free hand fisting in Misty’s shawl to keep herself upright. Her eyes are fixed on the man across the room and Misty doesn’t like the way he’s looking back at her.

 

“What’s happening?” Queenie demands, sounding far away.

 

One of the other men stalks closer. “What always happens when a new supreme rises,” he says, looking satisfied. “The old one fades away.”

 

When Miss Cordelia collapses, Misty starts to get the sinking feeling that she hasn’t really left hell at all. 

 

 

\--

 

It’s hours and hours later, everyone else has gone to bed and only Misty and Myrtle remain, that Misty begins to feel like she’s alive again. Her skin stops tingling, her bones stop aching, her eyesight isn’t blurry anymore.

 

She’s gently running a hand over Miss Cordelia’s cheek, marvelling at her ability to be able to _touch_ her again, when Myrtle returns from wherever she’d mysteriously disappeared earlier, after muttering about solar energy and baby birds and being unable to deal with _‘the injustice of it all’._

 

Misty is so focused on counting each of Miss Cordelia’s individual breaths, _in, out, in, out,_ that she doesn’t hear the door open or close or notice Myrtle behind her until she speaks.

 

“Miss Day,” she says, startling her. “Life does become you, dear.”

 

Misty hums, not really listening to her as she turns back to Miss Cordelia, reaching out to run a thumb along the back of her hand. She re-starts her tally of counting the gentle rise and fall of Miss Cordelia’s chest.

 

They both fall into a comfortable silence, until Myrtle breaks it:

 

“Love is always cut too short,” she says mournfully, eyes still on Miss Cordelia. “My poor baby bird.”

 

Misty feels her brow furrowing, and she leans back so she can look at Myrtle fully. “What is that supposed to –"

 

Miss Cordelia begins to stir and they both fall silent. “Misty?” is the first thing she says, as she jerks into consciousness. “Where is she?”

 

Misty kneels down beside her. “I’m right here, Miss Cordelia.” she says, softly.

 

Miss Cordelia’s eyes flutter, trying to follow her as she moves. One of her hand’s twitches, but she doesn’t lift it from her side. “Good,” is all she says.

 

“How are you feeling, Delia?” Myrtle says from behind her, leaning over to run the back of her hand over Miss Cordelia’s forehead maternally.

 

Miss Cordelia’s eyes flutter again, a wry smile crossing her lips. “Like shit.”

 

Neither Misty – or Myrtle, behind her, laugh. Instead the words make Misty’s stomach drop, her arms coming up to cradle her chest protectively. 

 

 

She feels like she can’t breathe, all of a sudden. 

 

“Miss Cordelia, I’ll go get you somethin' for the -- “ she stands, finding she has no breath left to finish her sentence and instead just flees the room, feeling ashamed for doing it.

 

The second she steps out into the hall, the hair on the back of her neck stands up 

 

 

“Well,” the man from earlier drawls, from where he’s leaning against the wall across from Miss Cordelia’s room. “I see that you’ve recovered.”

 

Misty feels herself recoil under his gaze, unable to stop herself.

 

“I have,” she says stiffly, going to brush past him, until she sees him reach for the doorhandle of Miss Cordelia’s room. 

 

 

Without even thinking about it, she blinks and is suddenly in front of the door again.

 

“You ain’t going in there,” she tells him firmly, blocking his way in.

 

He raises an eyebrow, looking down at her in amusement. “You think you can stop me?”

 

“I will if I have to,” Misty says and she means it, her hands curling into fists by her sides.

 

Still looking amused, he backs up with his palms out in front of him in a faux-peace offering. “My apologies,” he says, bowing to her mockingly. “I wasn’t aware that I was bringing back her guard dog.”

 

Her hands still curled into fists so tight that she can feel her blood rushing in her veins, Misty watches him walk away, waiting until he disappears around the corner before she lets herself relax enough to move away from the door.

 

\--

 

[Misty has never been the vindictive type; she was burned alive and accepted it because the world always has its way of righting itself, because things _did_ happen for a reason – it bought her to Miss Cordelia in the end, after all – but, as she feels that foul pulse of evil fade the further away he gets, she knows that she’ll rip this man to pieces before she’ll ever let him lay a finger on Miss Cordelia.

 

Even if doing it sends her back to hell.]

 

\--

 

Misty returns to the room with tea that one of the warlocks begrudgingly helps her prepare – she watches him closely the entire time, making sure he doesn’t do anything funny to it – sliding the door open and making her way back to Miss Cordelia, who is now sitting upright.

 

Myrtle, by her side, gives her a scrutinising look. Whatever she finds seems to satisfy her, because she stands and lets Misty take her place.

 

“It’s not Louisiana mud, but it’ll have to do,” Misty says, handing her the cup, letting their hands brush together as Miss Cordelia takes it from her.

 

At her attempt at humour, Miss Cordelia’s lips quirk upward. She looks down into the cup, before raising it to her lips. “What is it?”

 

“Lipton's,” Misty tells her, voice flippant in a way that doesn’t match what she’s actually feeling. She tucks her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, fighting off the bad energy she can feel pulsing through the house.

 

When she looks back up, she finds Miss Cordelia looking straight at her, a small smile on her face. 

 

 

She looks so exhausted but at the same time still _so_ powerful – the kind of supreme Misty had always thought she would have made when she’d been alive -- that it makes Misty’s skin prickle with warmth. 

 

“I’m so glad that you’re back,” Miss Cordelia tells her, with that same look in her eyes from earlier. The one that Misty feels like she should be able to recognise. “I only wish we had done something sooner.”

 

She tries to sit up further but can’t do it by herself and Myrtle has to reach over to help her.

 

Misty’s heart hurts, watching them. She remembers hell vividly, remembers taking life after life after _life_ and it feels like nothing compared to this. Besides Stevie, Miss Cordelia is the only purely _good_ thing on earth. Misty is sure of it - and even surer that she deserves so much better than _this_.

 

“You should have left me where I was.”

 

Miss Cordelia’s brow furrows, her hands shaking around her cup. “What? – _why?_ ”

 

_Because you’re dying._

 

“That man you sent to fetch me,” Misty says instead, her voice wavering even thinking about him. “There’s somethin’ wrong with him.”

 

From behind her, Myrtle touches her shoulder gently. “What do you mean?”

 

Misty looks down at her hands, biting her lip as she starts to explain, letting it all spill out. At some point while she’s talking, Miss Cordelia grabs onto her hand, running her thumb over the back of her knuckles soothingly.

 

“Maybe he had to negotiate your release from hell,” she says, when Misty falls silent, but her voice trembles slightly, like she doesn’t really believe what she’s saying, and Myrtle’s face looks paler than normal beside her.

 

“Maybe,” Misty agrees hesitantly.

 

 

Myrtle and Miss Cordelia quickly dissolve into conversation about the man – _Michael Langdon_ , even his name makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up -- and Misty stares down at her hands, still entwined with Miss Cordelia’s, trying to centre herself.

 

She feels alive, but she doesn’t feel _whole_. There’s something missing. She comes back into the conversation when they start talking about a war and instantly feels panic bubbling up in her stomach.

 

“I’m not sure that I can fight,” she blurts out, her own dread clear in her voice. In response, Miss Cordelia’s grip tightens on her suddenly shaking hands. “Miss Cordelia, I – “

 

“I know,” Miss Cordelia says, looking at her seriously. “I would never ask that of you.”

 

Inch by inch, Misty starts to relax at her words and abruptly feels ashamed of her reaction. “I’m sorry, ” she says, voice still trembling.

 

 

Miss Cordelia shakes her head, hair spilling over her shoulder as she leans down to pull Misty back into her arms, instantly enveloping her in a kind of magic that is so calming and so unmistakably Miss Cordelia that Misty never wants her to let go. 

 

“Do not apologise to me,” Miss Cordelia tells her firmly, voice slightly muffled by Misty’s shawl. “You need time to heal. I would never ask you to fight a war for me.”

 

In response, Misty buries her face in Miss Cordelia’s neck and thinks: _I would do it. For you._

 

 

She’d do anything for Miss Cordelia. 

\--

 

When Stevie walks through the door, Misty starts to feel like she can breathe again. Good magic rushes into the room like a breath of fresh air and that, mixed with Miss Cordelia’s steady presence near her, is enough for her to feel less like she’s still drowning and more like she’s a person again.

 

It’s only after Stevie stops singing that she realises Miss Cordelia isn’t in the room anymore and she immediately begins to panic, doing a full turn of the room, looking for her frantically. 

 

 

She can’t see her anywhere.

 

Stevie touches her arm, but this time Misty doesn’t even feel it.

 

“Where’s Miss Cordelia?” she asks, her voice too loud. She can feel the terror rising in the pit of stomach when no one answers. “Where –“

 

Something bumps into her shoulder. _Madison_. “Relax,” she says, rolling her eyes when Misty flinches away from her instinctively. “She’s out there seething with jealousy over you bumping uglies with Stevie Nicks.”

 

Barely hearing a word that she says, Misty hurries in the direction Madison had pointed in and finds Miss Cordelia, standing with her back to her, gazing down into one of the three fireplaces in the room. 

 

 

“Miss Cordelia?” she says, her voice still bleeding with her anxiety as she comes to a stop just inside the room.

 

Miss Cordelia turns around to face her, her smile dropping the second she sees Misty’s face. 

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, materialising at her side instantly, concern radiating off her. She reaches out and Misty welcomes her arms around her, leaning into them.

 

“You weren’t there,” Misty says, still finding it hard to breathe. “I couldn’t find you and I –"

 

“Hey, hey –“ Cordelia’s hands on her shoulders are gentle as she puts a bit of space between them. She slides one up to her jaw, so she can tilt Misty’s chin up, giving her no choice but to look into her eyes. “You’re safe here, understood? You don’t need to worry about that.”

 

Sincerity rings through her voice, but it doesn’t make Misty feel any better. That’s not what has her scared whenever Miss Cordelia is out of her line of sight.

 

 

“But you’re not,” she says, quietly. “I can feel it, Miss Cordelia.”

 

There’s a pause before Miss Cordelia sighs, now playing with a strand of Misty’s hair with the hand that had been cupping her jaw. She bites her lip. 

 

“That’s not what we need to be worried about right now.”

 

“Well, I am worried.”

 

At her reproving tone, Miss Cordelia smiles but this time it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. She stops playing with her hair, dropping her arm back down and Misty feels the loss immediately.

 

“...You know, I’ve been thinking about this day since I let you do the seven wonders,” Miss Cordelia tells her, not quite meeting her gaze. “ _I knew_ it would be difficult to let you go again and now that you're here, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to.”

 

Misty can feel herself staring at her but can’t stop herself. “...Miss Cordelia,” she breathes.

 

Miss Cordelia bites her lip, looking ashamed. “Misty -- I didn’t bring you back for entirely selfless reasons,” she admits guiltily, looking down before she meets Misty’s eyes again. “And I am so sorry for that.”

 

Misty has only ever kissed two people in her life. Some boy in the congregation who’d forced his tongue into her mouth and slapped her when she pushed him away and Kyle, before Fiona had fixed him, when he’d been so scared and so confused without Zoe around that Misty had never had the heart to tell anyone about it.

 

 

The third person she kisses is the only person she’s ever wanted to kiss.

 

Miss Cordelia makes a sound of surprise as she leans in and presses their lips together, but she doesn’t push her away. 

 

 

A thrill runs through her when, instead, Miss Cordelia pulls her closer, her hands coming up to encircle Misty’s arms to hold her in place and Misty knows she’s not really doing it _right_ – she’s inexperienced, as Madison had said disdainfully once – but it’s still the best kiss she’s ever had.

 

Eventually Miss Cordelia breaks the kiss, when both of them are out of breath. Misty is unwilling to let her go, following her until Miss Cordelia laughs breathlessly, bringing a hand up to tuck a strand of Misty’s hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek.

 

“Don’t be sorry, Miss Cordelia,” Misty says, meaning it. “I thought about you in he– _there_. All the time.”

 

Miss Cordelia’s eyes are wet as she runs her thumb down Misty’s cheek reverently. “You deserved so much better than that.”

 

In response, Misty leans in and kisses her again. 

 

 _You did too_ , she thinks to herself. She doesn’t say it because she knows Miss Cordelia will never see herself the way everyone else does; will never understand how much she deserves.

 

Misty would try to give her the world if she asked for it.

\--

Later, with Miss Cordelia sound asleep beside her, brow furrowed, worrying about them all even in her sleep, Misty lies on her side and counts her breaths like she had earlier, using it to centre her – to keep the thoughts of frogs and scalpels and _pain_ out of her thoughts.

She can’t sleep, not with all the evil lurking around this house, so she watches over Miss Cordelia instead.

At some point, Miss Cordelia reaches out in her sleep, her arm searching around in the sheets until it finds Misty’s stomach, hand grabbing onto the shirt Zoe had lent her to sleep in.

“Don’t go,” she breathes out quietly, and Misty thinks she’s woken up for a second, but she’s definitely still asleep, her eyes moving around restlessly under her eyelids. “Misty –”

“ _Shh_ ,” Misty moves slowly so she doesn’t jostle her, reaching down to cover the hand fisted in her shirt.” I’m right here, Miss Cordelia.” 

At the sound of her voice, Miss Cordelia begins to relax, her breathing evening out again. The frown on her face relaxes, but the worry doesn’t leave her face and her hand tightens its hold on Misty’s shirt; like she’s afraid that if she lets go Misty might vanish.

After a minute of no other movement, Misty lies back down. She runs a finger over the tattoo on Miss Cordelia’s wrist, feather-light, tracing the outline over and over again.

 

At some point, she must have closed her eyes and fallen asleep because the next time she opens them, faint light is creeping in through those giant, dusty windows.

 

For a second, disoriented, she blinks up at the ceiling above her, then she remembers where she is and quickly turns over, searching for Miss Cordelia, who she finds already awake and propped up on one of her elbows.

“Morning sleepyhead,” she whispers warmly, smiling when she notices Misty’s awake.

(and - the air is still thick with the evil and horror she can feel alight in the house around them, but, as she looks at Miss Cordelia, all sleepy and soft and _alive_ beside her, Misty feels hopeful that things might work out for the first time since she’d woken up here.)

**Author's Note:**

> also on Tumblr [here!](http://somnambulants.tumblr.com/post/179006029541/where-everyone-would-love-to-drown<a) Let me know what you think!


End file.
